


A Time and Place

by gangnamstiles



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gangnamstiles/pseuds/gangnamstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He swore that he would die before he ever saw Arthur fall. He swore to protect Arthur until the day he no longer could. And now Arthur would like to kill or otherwise maim the person that told Merlin he needed to throw his life away to make sure that Arthur lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time and Place

**Author's Note:**

> My friend wanted a fic where Merlin died in Arthur's arms. So I wrote it.

He swore that he would die before he ever saw Arthur fall. He swore to protect Arthur until the day he no longer could. And now Arthur would like to kill or otherwise maim the person that told Merlin he needed to throw his life away to make sure that Arthur lived.

It was always one thing to let Merlin come along on dangerous missions. Even though Merlin got in the way more often than he was helpful, his presence was always a comfort to Arthur.

But this time he's not sure that Merlin accompanying him was a good idea. It's enough that they got attacked by a group of bandits, but one by one they had revealed themselves as magic-users. Merlin nearly felled Arthur when the King had called them druids. Druids were a peaceful group, Arthur knew that now, but he had so long grouped them in with other hostile forces that he didn't know how else to categorize them.

"Arthur!" A voice to his left shouts. He turns in time to see Gwaine ram his shoulder in the gut of a wicked looking man with a braided beard. "You need to get out of here!" He bears his teeth in response and whips a tendril of sweaty hair from his forehead.

"I will not leave my men!" He shouts. There are replies from his other knights and he feels a hand touch his shoulder. He whips around, sword poised, but freezes when he sees Merlin's flushed face.

"You need to leave, Arthur," he says between pants, as if he's been fighting nearly as vigorously as Arthur himself. "Please."

"Merlin--" His words are ripped from his mouth as hears the sickening sound of a sword ripping through flesh. He feels nothing, but watches Merlin's eyes trail down. Arthur follows his gaze and watches the red stained metal of a sword retract from Merlin's stomach. The sound of the battle around him is silent.

"Arthur," he hears Merlin whisper. The sounds come swelling back around him as Merlin folds forward against him. Arthur can't do anything but lower them on to the ground and hold Merlin. He spreads his hands over the wound, desperately trying to stop the blood, though he knows it won't do anything. "Arthur," Merlin laughs, and turns into a bubbling cough. "Arthur you're shaking."

Arthur looks down at him, pale skin almost like parchment, lips trembling. A laugh of hysteria rises in his throat, but he tamps it down when Merlin looks up at him. "Merlin," he barely whispers.

"I have magic."

"Now's not a time to joke," he says, voice much more acidic than he means it to be. But Merlin smiles, though it does fades quickly from his face.

"Not a joke," he says. His eyes start to droop.

"No, Merlin. Look at me. Keep your eyes open." 

Merlin looks at him. He grins weakly. "It's okay, Arthur."

"Merlin."

"You've said my name more in the past minute than you have in all my service to you," he laughs again, dissolving into a cough that brings blood to his lips.

"Please stop talking."

"I have magic, Arthur," his eyes are open again.

"I don't care. Stop wasting your breath telling me." Arthur can't help the nervous hand he pushes through Merlin's hair, feeling the sweat-matted pieces and remembering how they felt once, when they were soft like silk and wind tousled. The nights Merlin spent under Arthur's arm, carrying from the dining hall back to his chambers, mind gelatin from ale, how Arthur would touch Merlin's hair and mumble in his ear as he stumbled down the hallway. How in the morning Arthur would sometimes wake with Merlin's head pillowed on his chest and they wouldn't say a word, but Arthur might run his fingers through it until Merlin woke enough to be panicked about being in bed with the king.

"You're crying," Merlin whispers, a smile on his lips.

"Hush." He folds over Merlin, still pressing his hand to to the wound, his arms and sleeves now soaking in blood.

"I love you, Arthur."

"Shut up, Merlin," he whispers. He hears the swords connecting around him, shouts of rage, bodies falling. And those words seem so strange for the setting. It's something they've been stepping around for ages. Sidelong glances, inside jokes, lingers touches getting dressed or bathing or turning down the sheets. An unspoken, almost electric spark between them. And he realizes that there really could never be an appropriate time for either of them to say it, save for now.

“I’m going to die here,” he says softly. Arthur holds him tighter. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Shush, Merlin,” Arthur whispers. Merlin nods weakly.

“I love you,” Merlin says on a slow exhale.

“I love you,” he replies, keeping his eyes closed as he feels Merlin’s breath leave him one final time. “You bloody idiot,” he can’t do anything but whisper. He pulls Merlin closer, touching his face, trying to find some sort of proof that he might wake up, as if this was all some joke, some stupid magic trick. “Merlin,” he says, everything hitting him at once. “Merlin,” his voice breaks.

“--gone, sire,” a voice says beside him. Arthur looks over to see Leon kneeling down next to him.

“What?”

“They’re gone,” Leon tells him. “They ran when—“ He stops, his eyes trailing over Merlin’s body. Arthur’s chest feels like it’s connecting to his spine and he curls over Merlin’s body. “We need to leave.” Leon and another knight pull him to his feet. Gwaine pulls Merlin’s body into his arms and Arthur cries out when he sees the way Merlin’s once tightly wound body is limp in a way that’s much more permanent than sleep.

“Put him on my horse.”

“Arthur—“

“My horse, Leon,” he says coldly, pulling his arms from both of his knights and turning away from them.

“Sire,” he mutters. He sees Gwaine cradle Merlin in his arms and carry him to the horses. His knights follow and he stands alone in the middle of the battleground. He picks Excalibur up from the ground where he had dropped her. He sheathes the sword and tries not to buckle under the weight.


End file.
